


Death's Own Jury

by Bofur1



Series: The Two Blue Wizards [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Panic, The One Ring - Freeform, Wargs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where is our Hobbit?!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death's Own Jury

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I don't know why this one got so long. It's like a raging monster!! Still, I hope it's good. ;)

“Where is our Hobbit?!” Bofur could hear the anger and thinly veiled panic in Gandalf’s voice as he strode among their group. Bofur hadn’t even noticed that Bilbo was gone, and apparently neither had the others.

“Curse the Halfling! Now he’s lost?” Dwalin growled.

“I thought he was with Dori,” Glóin declared.

“Don’t blame me!” Dori snapped.

“Well, where did you last see him?” Gandalf asked.

They were silent for a while, thinking. Then Nori spoke up. “Last I saw the little bugger, we were setting up in the cave for the night,” he said slowly.

Gandalf considered this, and then turned on Bofur. “You were keeping an eye on him as I said, weren’t you?” he demanded.

Bofur stammered a bit. “Well, yeh, but then ye asked me t’ help with th’ explosion, an’ I kinda lost track o’ him...”

Gandalf ground his teeth. Bofur flushed, ashamed of his carelessness. Then, a voice came from behind them.

“Well, since you lost track of me, it’s a good thing I found you,” Bilbo said, appearing from behind the trees.

“Bilbo!” Fíli and Kíli cried together. “We’d given you up!” Kíli declared, while Fíli asked, bewildered, “How on earth did you get past the Goblins?”

“How, indeed,” Bilbo repeated. He chuckled at their perplexed expressions, and hooked his thumbs in his coat. It might have been a trick of the light, but Bofur was almost positive he saw something burnished slip into Bilbo’s pocket. Bofur glanced at Gandalf, and then at Bombur, and saw that they too were looking fixedly at the Hobbit’s coat compartment.

Gandalf was able to turn his eyes away, and at last he said, “Well, what does it matter? He’s back.”

Thorin opened his mouth, but Bombur didn’t notice and spoke up first. “Say, Bilbo, what’s in your pocket?”

Under their breath, Bofur and Gandalf simultaneously cursed.

Bilbo looked startled. “What?”

Bombur gestured to the Hobbit’s coat, and then reiterated his question. “What’s in your pocket?”

Bilbo was silent.

In the movement of adjusting his hat, Gandalf made a very discreet gesture in iglishmêk. Bifur saw and raised his eyebrows, and then Gandalf added a name to the instruction. Bifur quickly wiggled his fingers so Bofur would notice in his peripheral. When Bofur turned his head slightly in acknowledgement, Bifur gave him Gandalf’s words. All of it happened in but a few seconds.

Stepping up to Bombur, Bofur flung an arm around his shoulders and forced a laugh. “Bombur, nothin’s in his pocket.”

Bombur broke the staring contest to look at Bofur. “You mean you didn’t see it?”

Bofur smiled sweetly. “See what?”

“Never mind,” Bombur sighed. As he and his brother turned away from Bilbo Bombur muttered, “You know, Bofur, you’re a horrible actor.”

Bofur quickly gave him a sharp elbow for that. “Gandalf said th’ time’s not right. Let it go.”

“Shall we set up here for the night?” Gandalf interrupted their conversation.

Thorin considered, and then slowly nodded. “Óin, Glóin, you know the routine. Bombur, get the food started once the fire’s up.”

Bombur nodded acknowledgement, but Bofur could see the frown in his brother’s eyes. Making supper was going to be harder tonight.  They’d lost their packs of provisions in the tumble to Goblin Town, so Bofur tagged along with Bombur to search out wild food.

“What do you think it was?” Bombur asked as he examined a seemingly edible plant.

“Dunno,” Bofur replied absently, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. “Shiny, though. Wait...” Bofur shaded his eyes against the sun as he squinted into some of the denser underbrush. “Ooh, yes,” he snickered softly. “Ye think ye can hide, d’ye?”

“What is it?” Bombur asked.

“Shh!” Bofur hushed him. “I’m goin’ t’ get that little possum in there. Playin’ dead, he is. Thinks he can fool—” Bofur froze, stiffening suddenly. “Bombur,” he said in a tight voice. “D’ye hear that—?”

“Yes,” Bombur answered in a hushed whisper.

Bofur turned and looked up the steep hill. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, willing magic to his sight. His vision tunneled, and he saw the source of the distant growls. Bofur’s jaw dropped, allowing words to tumble out.

“Wargs!” Bofur hollered in a panic. Grabbing Bombur’s arm he dragged his brother back to the others. “Warg-riders are comin’!” he screamed again, and the howls from atop the hill proved his point.

Chaos and fear struck lightning adrenaline into each Dwarven and Wizard body.

“Up into the trees!” Gandalf shouted. “All of you, climb! Bilbo! Climb!”

Bofur followed Gandalf’s directions, shoving Bifur up the tree and then scrambling up himself. Bombur crouched, and then leapt into the air, clinging to the lowest branch.

“Hurry, hurry!” Bofur yelped. Bombur grimaced, struggling to hold on with one hand while he waved the other toward his brother. Bofur leaned dangerously down, trying to catch the outstretched hand. Their fingertips just barely brushed.

The wargs were bounding in long strides right toward them, and Bofur’s heart skipped a beat. If Bombur couldn’t get up in time—

Bofur swung his legs down and landed on the branch below. Grasping Bombur’s hand Bofur strained, trying to pull him up.

“Why’d ye have t’ eat so much o’ yer wife’s—” Bofur never finished his sentence, for his foot slipped. He and Bombur hit the ground hard, laying dazed for a long moment.

“You alright?” Bombur wheezed, using the base of the tree as leverage to sit up.

“Yeh...m’ head...” Bofur mumbled, rubbing the knot that was swiftly forming. He jammed his hat back on his head, and then he swallowed. “Bombur...”

His brother looked, and paled. The wargs had halted just a few yards away. Their curved, crooked teeth shone in the swiftly falling dusk like identical crescent moons, and their eyes were like the wraiths’ of Death’s own jury.


End file.
